


Seashell

by REDBIRBy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Blood, Claiming Bites, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intersex, Intersex Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Rituals, Merpeople, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/REDBIRBy/pseuds/REDBIRBy
Summary: Then he started to find open shells in the sand. Large and black, that covered algae around the island in a thick layer, hard on the outside and tender on the inside. His favourite snack, for times when he was too lazy to hunt. Perhaps, some fish have found his treasure?
Relationships: Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Seashell

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Ракушка](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24337219) by [REDBIRBy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/REDBIRBy/pseuds/REDBIRBy). 



> Please notice, that this text has very slight references to normalized rape, cannibalism and mpreg. As in, these are mers, and they definitely don't share the same sentiments as us. You can read some more about them at the end of the fic.
> 
> Also, please tell me if you notice any mistakes. English is not my first language, and original fic has some really flowery wordings, so my brain is completely fried.

Smell of blood. That was the first thing that alerted Connor to the changes. But he didn’t pay any attention to it, because the ocean is a dangerous place, cruel to the weak. That blood was far away and he, himself, was safe and nothing else disturbed his heart. Then he started to find open shells in the sand. Large and black, that covered algae around the island in a thick layer, hard on the outside and tender on the inside. His favourite snack, for times when he was too lazy to hunt. Perhaps, some fish have found his treasure? After all, Connor never dropped leftovers of his lunch just like that, wary of unwanted attention. And perhaps not in vain, because the next and the most alarming sign that he found were the prints in the sand. Print of large hands, barely touched by stray water, and a deep wavy pothole, like some huge sea serpent decided to leave it’s cold home behind. As soon as he saw them, Connor shamefully fled to his grotto, feeling his heart trying to break out of his chest. His beautiful secluded world was no longer safe.

Two days. He managed only two days before, driven by hunger and desire to see the sun, Connor left the stone walls of his home. He went ashore, on which it was already possible to discern only faint traces of someone else's presence. Water and wind tried to erase everything unnecessary from the hot snow-white sand, but a vague anxiety made him look around and step carefully, even if the red-hot grains of sand hurt tender feet with every step. And not in vain, because as soon as Connor carefully looked out from behind the tree at his favorite fresh lake, bathed in the rays of the sun, he noticed the newcomer. A man sprawled right on his beloved rock, curling his black-and-white tail in the clear water, all two and a half heights of it. He breathed slowly, gills clenched tightly, and seemed unexpectedly weak, despite his powerful figure and multiple scars. Weathered. Skin red from the merciless sun. Dying.

With greater awareness, Connor pressed himself against the rough bark, biting his lower lip with unusually blunt teeth. Someone else's life depended on him now. He didn’t know what hurt the mer in front of him, but he needed help, and Connor... Doubted. All his instincts, all his experience screamed that it was dangerous. That the stranger should die and serve him as a good hearty meal. But the other side of him felt sorrow. And longing. After all, since the time Connor reached fourteen cycles and left his native waters, he was alone. He lived alone, hunted alone, slept alone, entertaining himself with seashells and by trying to catch one of the white crying birds that sometimes sat down on the water near the shore. How many cycles have passed since then? Ten? More?

Sucking in air noisily, Connor pulled away from his support and protection. The stranger did not react in any way to the sound of footsteps, but the touch — the touch of cold palms to hot and improperly dry skin made him hiss, groan faintly, and nothing more. So weak. With anxiety in his chest, Connor grabbed him under the arms and pushed away from the sand, pulling both of them all the way into the water. As befits a mer, head first and to the very depth. His body released the spell flowing through his blood, helping to swim faster and breathe deeply, driving sweet fresh water through his gills. Laying stranger on the sand, carefully on the side, trying not to fold his dorsal fin, Connor stroked a powerful chest and flat stomach, examining the map of silvery scars until his fingers felt the transition from skin to smooth scales. There were no wounds on the torso, but as soon as Connor breathed the water in, feeling blood on his tongue, and looked closer at the tail, a terrible wound appeared among the scales. One, that could only be left by a jagged human harpoon. Whether they hunted a stranger, or a stranger hunted their ship — with his tail it was easy to sink even a two-masted one, just by hitting its bottom hard several times — it didn't matter. It was important that at some point Calypso played a cruel joke with the stranger, and now Connor was paying for it.

Assessing the wound, which was now only slightly bleeding, Connor exhaled a cloud of bubbles and moved his tail, sweeping the lake bottom with his thin fins. Was it this stranger’s blood that he had felt in the water a few days ago? If so, it’s good that their kind was tenacious, like deep sea cuttlefish, and was really afraid only of their own, and cunning human tools, which became more and more sophisticated every year. It was because of them that Connor gave up tender human meat, deciding that it was better to face a shark one-on-one than to become a dinner for weak earthly creatures who dared to conquer the great ocean. Thinking, Connor didn’t stop his movement, ripping off thick strips of seaweed and laying it on top of burnt skin and open wound. Quickly, quickly, with confident movements, because fresh water, no matter how sweet it seemed, how safe, was not their home and could not help. Hard work waited ahead, and at least it was necessary not to harm the stranger any more. If only he later did not harm Connor himself: such wanderers rarely, but nevertheless, swam into his territory, gorging themselves on the fat fish that was found there in abundance, and then swam away without finding anything interesting. But if one of them caught even the very tip of Connor's tail, there was a real massacre. After all, it was in their blood to humiliate and possess, to flip the weaker one on their back and leave your seed in them and swim away, without even bothering to find out if it took or not. And for a while Connor was young, spoiled by the fact that his parents were a mated couple. He trustingly went out to meet strangers, and he was just lucky that each time wasn’t on the right season. He learned after a few times, and even though his gray scales got a few scars of their own - he no longer rolled over for anyone, even if they managed to find him. His territory was truly his.

Only this stranger was larger than all those with whom Connor had dealt before, and he sincerely doubted his victory if this decision turned out to be wrong.

Raising the mer from the bottom of the lake and dragging him to the ocean turned out to be a real challenge. Connor had to once again resort to the charm of their people, exchanging the power of the tail for long and straight legs, and dragging the heavy mer on his shoulders, almost crying at the pain caused by the prolonged contact of newborn feet with the earth's surface. Oh, merciful Calypso, who gave them the opportunity to go ashore without fear, and cruel Calypso, who made them pay for every step they took away from their mother's embrace. But sooner or later Connor threw his burden into the coastal water, pink from sunset, and lowered his burning legs into it, almost crying with relief, making gentle trills with his throat. Despite the elapsed time, and the very rough treatment, the stranger was still out of it, and therefore Connor did not enjoy his rest for long. Very soon, he again picked up his burden, and swam away from the shore, accelerating with powerful blows of his tail.

Behind a dense underwater forest of algae, but without crossing the border of corals, where a gray rock rose on the island and fell into the ocean — there was the entrance to the underwater grotto, which Connor chose as his home. There, on a nest of the softest algae and pure sand, he laid the stranger, wound up. Having plucked away thin freshwater greens, which almost all fell off during their short journey, Connor snatched out a piece of his own nest, splitting the huge green piece into two, and closed the wound in a new way, with the fresh inside to the exposed meat. After making sure that the job was done, Connor left the grotto again, intending to collect more shells and catch some fish.

As he expected, it was hunger that brought the stranger to his senses. As soon as the fish blood reached his nose, the blue glow of his tail came to life, and no less blue, piercing eyes had opened. Connor tensed, but swallowed the bite in his mouth. And then, seeing that mer was not going to attack, he tore off a large piece of fish’s white belly — and handed it to his guest. Without a word, mer gave Connor a suspicious look, and then opened his mouth full of teeth as sharp as the needles of a sea urchin. Unexpectedly gently and carefully he took the treat, swallowing it in one fell swoop. Encouraged by the fact that mer did not try to bite off his hand, Connor continued to feed him from his hand, eating off the rougher parts from the bones in between. After dividing caught fish in this way, the guest closed his eyes, exhaled, and then muttered a short "Rick" before digging deeper into the nest and falling asleep again.

Rick. Good name. Short and strong. Deciding he liked it, Connor opened the first seashell.

This ritual was repeated several more times before Connor told Rick his name, and he replied with a meek "Thank you", which almost never occurred in the speech of their people. All these days he had to sleep at the entrance of the grotto, but when Rick finally gained enough strength to eat and even swim, he quickly looked around the decorations of the grotto and hastily cleared Connor's place. True, not for long, because, looking at how he tried to find a place for himself, with an unsightly wound and burns from the sun, Connor could not stand it and invited him back to a cozy green nest. He spent so much time changing algae and cleaning the wound from possible litter to allow it to become infected. Rick, fortunately, continued to know his place, keeping a respectful distance even in the nest, trying not to touch their tails together. Well, several times Rick tried to show his teeth at Connor, but he did not tolerate this, and responded with his own snarl and a bright scarlet glow of his tail, which luxurious fins added impressiveness to it, despite his small size.

Time passed, gradually Rick got stronger and Connor regretfully waited for the time when he would go back to his wanderings. All the fear between them was gone. Not accounting for the fear of Rich dragging a whole shark in and putting it in front of his nose, and then waiting for him to wake up with a strange and proud look. Otherwise, Rick acted like an affectionate guest, listening to Connor's grunts and answering to all of his questions, telling about other parts of the ocean, islands, and even coastal human cities. He didn’t argue, didn’t try to attack or flip him on his back, and even the shark ended up feeding Connor's bottomless stomach for several days in a row. It was much easier to hunt with somebody else, and they even managed to catch and eat one of the white birds, and the stranger, who accidentally swam in, quickly fled, seeing two mers at the same time. Connor knew that he shouldn't have gotten used to such bliss, but he got used to it anyway, and now he was sure that he would be very sad when the time came for them to part.

Only, Rick didn't swim away. Even as his skin turned white as the seabed again, and the wound on his tail healed with a thick bald scar, Rick continued to sleep in Connor's nest, hunt with him, and explore the unmarked boundaries of the territory. If he sailed away, Connor didn’t have time to feel sad, as Rick was immediately back, carrying in his hands some kind of gift: either a beautiful shell, or a funny human thing from a ship crashed on distant rocks, or shark teeth, or bundles of delicious seashells. Feeling delighted every time, Connor readily said thank you to Rick, and found the gifts their rightful place, as a decoration on the wall, or lunch in his stomach. And once, instead of bringing a gift to Connor, Rick took Connor and showed him the wreckage of the ship, green with algae, showing and telling how people controlled such ridiculous things. Rick generally knew a lot about people, watching them from afar, even if this strange love was the reason for his close meeting with the eternal embrace of Calypso.

They also played, swimming after each other at the very bottom of the sea, like children, scaring away all the fish in the area. They swam in glimpses of gray, white and black, full of points of blue radiance, forgetting themselves and simply enjoying. And it was after one such game that Connor finally accepted all of Rick's cautious advances. Because even if most of the wanderers were disgusting to Connor, this one was educated enough to know the etiquette of pairing. And it was this one who wanted to stay with him, near this lonely island, in a small cozy grotto, and for this he was ready to fight even with all the sharks in the ocean.

Then, Connor swam tiredly ahead, smiling broadly after their race and constant attempts to catch each other. Rick was swimming behind, pretending to catch up, although in truth, just one strong movement of his tail was enough for him to overtake Connor. And even though it was still a long way from that time of the cycle, Connor leaned slightly on his side, carefully not looking back, so as not to see Rick's reaction. After all, this was not necessary: he felt it. A slight push from the side, and Connor rolled onto his back, exposing his weakest and most vulnerable places, gradually descending to the bottom. And as if he had done this dance more than once, Rick grabbed Connor's wrists, squeezing them with his claws — but with a grip so light, so different from the one that usually did the winner over the weak, that Connor could free himself at any moment and run away, as soon as he wanted. But he did not want to, and with trust he took Rick's weight, feeling their skin and scales rub against each other. He allowed a gentle bite, to the chin, to the neck, trusting Rick, as Rick had trusted him before. He bit back, gripping skin lightly with his teeth as Rick's powerful tail coiled around his own, kicking up the sand and now making it really impossible to escape. Feeling a hot wave go through his body, Connor exhaled and arched in Rick's grip, urging him to push closer against him. He didn't have to be invited twice: letting go of Connor's hands, Rick wrapped his arms around his shoulders, bit his neck, this time more noticeably, and squeezed with all his power, rubbed once, twice, exciting more, forcing their bodies to obey the lowest of instincts.

A hidden slit opened on Connor's tail, almost under the very bottom of his belly, releasing a long, thin cock. This almost forgotten sensation caused Connor to flinch and show his claws into Rick's shoulders, leaving thin scratches. Smell of blood filled the water, but so close to their grotto, they were completely safe from sharks — and such an addition only turned Connor more excited. Rick nibbled back, lifting his dorsal fin, and then lifted himself up a bit, trying to rub against the barely visible entrance at the base of Connor’s dick. Finally he pushed in, pulling apart the delicate narrow walls, filling and taking, spoiling Connor for anyone else. One heartbeat. Second one, full of hot unity. And then Rick arched in a wave, and Connor opened his mouth in mute pleasure and pushed back.

They slowly bent, rubbed against each other, sliding scales over scales, exchanging bites and shallow scratches, burning with pleasure, as if under the merciless rays of the sun. Again and again, lifting the fins, releasing low vibrating moans in the water, opening their mouths and trying to get more oxygen, more of each other. And when it became too good, when Connor was no longer able to control his buckling under Rick, when Rick had to really press him hard into the sand, holding under his full weight — Connor found his shoulder and bit as hard as he could, piercing the skin and staining the water around them with thick blood. And then he felt a sharp pain in his own neck, before everything was washed away by pleasure. For a single moment, everything ceased to exist, except for pleasure, a metallic taste on the tongue, and a strong body in his arms, so alive and beloved.

Finally, Connor went limp, trying to catch his breath, feeling like Rick, on the contrary, tightened his grip both with his hands and rings of his tail, continuing to hold Connor and fill with throbs of hot seed. The bite on Connor’s neck hurt, but even that pain was sweet, a reminder that they were now connected and Rick would never be a stranger in these waters again. And that Connor would never be alone in his life.

After a few minutes, Rick also relaxed, loosening his grip and hiding his cock back. His seed remained inside, and will remain there for a while. To no use, because that good season was still a few good moons away. But Connor was sure that that time would come soon, and he would again roll onto his back for Rick, and then their love would really take root, make him heavy and swollen with a new life.

In the meantime, they were resting on the sandy bottom, weaving together their tails and fingers, exchanging tender bites, and there were many more affectionate days ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Calypso in this world is a goddess of the seas and oceans, unpredictable and dangerous, but supportive of those who respect her strength.
> 
> According to legend, mers were once people, residents of a coastal city, whose name has been lost in time. They praised Calypso and made sacrifices to her, organized holidays in her honor. But one day an army came from a foreign land and captured a peaceful city, throwing prisoners from a cliff right into the ocean foam, declaring them heretics. Having accepted the souls of these people, their pain, Calypso turned them into man-eating sea monsters, mermans and mermaids, and in a great wave washed away the burning city along with the enemy's army. She gave her new children the opportunity to regain their human form at will, but every step should always remind them that they belong to her. The last part of the legend is better known among mers, and is extremely rare among humans.
> 
> In a biological sense, mermans and mermaids are hermaphrodites, and differ only in that the “female” phenotype prefers to settle in mainland places close to people and use their appearance to lure victims. The “male” phenotype settles near islands or roams, and uses its larger and more streamlined forms to hunt small vessels. One of these mermen grew to enormous size, and could sink even the largest ships, for which he is now popularly known as a Sea Serpent and Scarlet Death.
> 
> Recently, both types of mer switched to fish, birds and seashells diet in order to avoid meetings with dangerous mermaid catchers.


End file.
